Put the Load Right On Me
by V. Laike
Summary: Hunters aren't the only ones who keep journals. Excerpts from a journal kept early days after . . . well, just after. Post-'Swan Song'


Everyone and her sister is writing a post-"Swan Song" tag. Here's mine.

Disclaimer: Definitely not mine. If they had been mine, things would have happened differently. Maybe the end wouldn't have changed, but getting there would have been a bit different. But what's done is done.

Excerpts from a journal kept early days after . . . well, just _after_.

* * *

Put the Load Right On Me

by

V. Laike

I'm glad he's here. I'm glad he felt he could come to me. There's a sadness in him, and if I can do anything to comfort that, I will. Of course I will. He saved Ben and me from that changeling thing, and he promised we'd be safe whenever . . . whatever . . . went down. If I can make him happy, I want to do that.

* * *

Candice asked me at lunch today about the hot guy who's moved in with me. Is it just the sex, or are we in love? Do we love each other? I don't know. I mean, no, not in the fairy tale, hearts and roses, "you complete me" sense, but do we care about each other? Yes. God, yes. And I know he'd do anything for me or for Ben. Especially for Ben. I don't know if we'll ever get married, make it official at the courthouse or whatever, but I never saw myself "settling down" anyway. Right now he just needs someone. He needs somewhere to feel safe, and if I can give him that, I will. Gladly.

* * *

There's a sadness in him, like a weight that presses down on him that I can't even imagine. He tries to hide it, especially around Ben. But I can see it. I think Ben can, too. The only thing he told me the night he arrived was that his brother, Sam, was gone. Given what I know of what Dean and his brother do, this is more than just Sam taking off for the week or the month or the year. Sam is gone. That's all Dean would say. That's all he could say. He cried himself to sleep in my arms that night.

* * *

He tries to control his drinking, especially around Ben. Beer after work, a whiskey with or after dinner. Usually and after dinner. And he drinks pretty hard before bed, like he can't sleep without the extra help. He tries to control his drinking, but I can see it. He wants to lose himself in the bottle. His hands twitch like they should be holding a glass, and he'll wander to the kitchen, open the refrigerator door, look inside, then turn around and look for something else to do.

He's trying.

But sometimes when Ben is at baseball practice, Dean will go out to the Impala, just him and a fifth of whiskey, and he'll sit and drink. Sometimes he'll listen to this sort of easy listening-jazzy-folksy stuff that I wouldn't have thought he'd like. I'll join him sometimes, when I start to worry, and I asked him once about the music. "It's Sam's," he said, and left it at that. That's all I needed to know.

* * *

He has horrible nightmares. No surprise, really. Ben and I both had nightmares for weeks after the changeling. I can only imagine what Dean dreams about with the life he's led. I think maybe Sam was killed by a monster or something.

It usually starts with whispers. Desperate, like he's holding on by the skin of his teeth. Things like, "I'm still here, Sammy" and "I'm not gonna leave." Sometimes I can wake him up or settle him down before it gets any worse. But if he's been drinking too much, I can't get through to him. The shouting and screaming--the terror and the grief--they're the worst.

The first night this happened (the night he arrived) I went to check on Ben after. He said he was okay. "I'm okay, Mom. I know what Dean's dreaming about. He's dreaming about the monsters, isn't he." I love Ben so much it hurts sometimes.

* * *

He fixed the stereo in my car today. Then he washed it and vacuumed it out. And gave it a full detailing. Complete with my favorite air freshener from the candle store. Can you imagine that? Dean Winchester, in a candle store. Shopping for air freshener. I sat in my car and cried for fifteen minutes.

* * *

He got a job at a garage across town. It doesn't make him happy. Nothing really makes him happy. But he's good with cars, and he says it gives him something to focus on besides the pain. And he loves tinkering with the Impala. He's shown Ben how to change the oil, change a spark plug, and, I don't know, fix the timing belt or something. Ben said Dean has plans to add a flux capacitor to the thing so they can travel back in time. If I didn't know better, I'd think they were serious.

* * *

He's great with Ben. Ben has been showing him how to field grounders, and Dean has been teaching Ben the finer interpretations of Led Zepplin. But I think Ben knows that this isn't the same guy who crashed his birthday party two years ago. Ben has asked me more than once if Dean will always be sad like this. And if he'll always need to drink to be able to sleep. I told him I don't know.

* * *

Nothing really makes Dean happy. Sex comes close. He told me once when he'd had too much Jack that sex and drinking were the only two things that got his mind off of what happened. Cars came close, but not completely.

* * *

Today was one of his restless days. Some days, he'll read something in the paper, and he's tense and on edge for the rest of the day. It's usually when there's an article about a freak thunderstorm or a missing person. He'll read the article, and then it's like he can't settle down.

* * *

Sometimes I hear Dean muttering to himself while he putters around the house. It's usually about Sam. I heard him mention someone named Adam once. Sometimes it's about his dad. Or his mom. I don't know if he's praying or talking to Sam or talking to himself or what.

* * *

There's a guy who's started coming to the house sometimes to talk to Dean. Dark hair, blue eyes, always wears a trench coat. At first I thought it might be the law catching up with Dean--like Ben and I really need that kind of trouble--but he seems to be a . . . I don't know . . . a friend, maybe? They'll talk privately for a while, and for a while I thought maybe Dean had finally taken my advice to talk to someone, a grief counselor or something. But I don't think this guy's a counselor. Sometimes Dean's a little better when the guy leaves. Sometimes he's worse. But Dean is trying. He's really, really trying.

* * *

Sometimes, when he's low but hasn't started drinking, he'll tell me, out of the blue, "I'm so damn proud of him." I know he's talking about Sam. He misses him so much.

* * *

Dean gave me a silver charm this morning that matches his tattoo. He was so sweet about it. He told me, "It's to remember. When you wear it, I want you to remember you're safe." Sometimes I feel so much for him, my heart aches. He is so special. To me. I just want to hold him and make all the pain and the grief go away so we can be happy. I want to protect him as much as he wants to protect us.

Candice made a huge deal out of it when I told her. She insists it's an engagement present or something. She doesn't get me and Dean at all.

* * *

I know Dean is trying to make this work. He really is. I told him I'm not expecting anything, I just want to help. He's good to me, he's good to Ben, and as long as he doesn't get abusive, I can deal with the drinking.

Sometimes, when he hits bottom, he just weeps and holds onto me like a drowning man holds onto a life preserver. And he tells me I'm the only thing keeping him from going completely crazy. I'm the reason he hasn't eaten a bullet yet. And it scares the crap out of me.

I don't know how long Dean will last. And the best I can do is be here for him.

I'm afraid it won't be enough.


End file.
